Mission Logs
by AnnaCromwell
Summary: "Of all the Ares missions so far, Ares III's mission logs would be the ones to remember." A glance into the life of the Ares III crew after the dramatic rescue of Mark Watney, and what follows when he becomes pen pals with a certain SatCon engineer.
1. Chapter 1

_**He'd never realised how much he missed them.**_

As they crush him under the weight of their suits and their bodies, Mark realises how much he's missed these five space nerds. Commander Lewis, in all her stoic glory, was now sobbing covertly with a rather motherly smile on her face - Mark wonders how much she's mothered their trio of Beck, Johannsen and himself, scolding and berating, but also pampering her three temporary children, and how he's never missed his mamma, thanks to her.

Vogel gives him a smile that has a hint of admiration to it, bundled with the respect he always accorded all of them.

Martinez looks at him with all cockiness and confidence gone, an incomprehensible expression on his face, and as the Air Force officer engulfs him in an embrace, he hears him whisper, "Thank God for you, buddy," in a voice that's almost choking, and Mark can't stop the stray tears that escape him.

Beth, with her tiny frame and her personality that's way larger than it, bless her, crushes him in a hug he imagines his little sister would give him, if he had one. She's crying into his suit, and Mark finds himself comforting her, patting her head and back while her body shakes with sobs. She looks up, looking lost and scared and relieved, and he presses a kiss to her forehead to tell her that everything's alright and yes, he's back and no, he won't leave her ever again.

When Beck hugs him, he breaks down, letting go of all his anger and worry and fear. Chris has been his anchor since high school, since the days of getting drunk and crashing cars, of football victories and playing hooky (and acing tests too - Mark and Chris were pretty good at that). The brunette looks at him, and they know neither needs to say anything. Mark can feel the rest of them move away, giving the two their space (he cringes at the mental pun) and after a good one minute, he decides that he's had enough of Beck, and holding on any longer wouldn't be helping Martinez's gaydar.

"So…" he looks at the others - silence ensues.

"Go take a bath," Beth sniffles, tossing a towel and a bottle of what suspiciously looks like unauthorized Loreal shampoo. Under the Commander's stare, the small sysop wilts and looks down, mumbling something like "I knew I'd need it someday".

The crew laughs, and Mark has to force himself to not cry again.

* * *

Mindy really needs to stop with that chocolate chip ice cream now.

She's been eating for a non-stop fifteen minutes, crying and laughing and stuffing a spoon with a frequency of a mouthful and two sobs a minute. Mars still looks inviting, but she needs to remind herself that the Hab doesn't have anyone now, and watching it like a stalker fangirl isn't going to help anyone. Heck, her contract was going to expire in a month. _Well, it was fun while it lasted._

Chief Buccaneer Venkat- no, Director of Ares Operations Venkat Kapoor walks in and takes a look at the half-empty Ben and Jerry's tub, her splotchy eyes and the TV that's been running CNN for the past six hours.

"You need sleep, food and a direct chat with Watney." She shakes her head vigorously at the last one, hair falling all out of place - _I really look like a mess right now, or a bunny that's done cardio, Ben and Jerry's and too much reading._ "At least sleep and food?" She has to nod to that one. Venkat smiles and turns around, shaking his head at the disarray, and Mindy makes a mental note to clear the room of all its hidden Hubba Bubba Crush Grape and Green Apple tape rolls. "Oh, by the way, your contract's been renewed for the next five years - you'll be heading the Mars Satellite Division now."

It's a good there's nothing in her hands on within arm's reach, else someone was going to get unintentionally injured.


	2. Chapter 2

**Here's the second chapter for this story - took a while to write this, I was trying to get creative with the emails.**

* * *

Mark blesses Beth for the second time in the day.

Her illegal stash of cosmetics makes him smell almost normal, and that L'oreal shampoo really does wonders with the scraggly blonde mop that his hair is now. It's a good thing normal shampoo is usable in space, because he really needed the "I've just rolled in a meadow full of perfume-quality flowers" treatment.

When he steps out, Martinez lets out a whistle, and he doesn't understand how malnourished Mark could be appealing to a man with standards a million miles high. Beth frowns at him, snatching the empty bottle from his hands - _well, I have the pianist fingers now._

"Smelling good," Martinez says casually, and Mark takes a casual bow of acknowledgement as Beck smiles roguishly. This prompts a dirty look from smol sysop, leading him to wonder whether Beck had finally gathered the guts. Martinez's knowing look and waggling eyebrows confirm this, and another weird look gives Mark jitters, and also a weird sense of curiosity - _how must it be, a million miles high?_ He decides not to pursue that train of thought by seeing Beth's glare. The computer pings, and Beth scoots over.

"Data dump's here - we have… 45 _filtered emails_ for Space Pirate Watney, and one with the exact same header."

"Okay… Who's this awesome person?" He displaces Beth from her spot and pores over the mail. "Mindy Park, _space paparazzi and Hab-fetish voyeur_?"

"Last time I checked, she worked at Satcon, but this sounds more accurate." Mark reads through the rest of the mail, and he wonders whether NASA really was giving them the liberty to discuss this or if a super-talented hacker had just gotten through to the comms division. He begins to read the mail.

 _Ahoy, Space Pirate Watney!_

 _As much as I wanted to go with an unconventional intro, I'll have to start with the basics, else you'd be left wondering who this weird person with a penchant for quoting Tumblr memes is. I'm Mindy Park, space paparazzi and Hab-fetish voyeur (sorry if it sounds too weird, but this is me in my purest, distilled form) - I work with Satcon, earlier just as a lowly engineer (read - all night photo-booth operator) but now oversee the Mars Satellite constellation (read - photo booth chain manager, yay!). Since Director Kapoor (or should I say Chief Buccaneer of the Ares Ops) decided I need sleep, food and a direct chat with you, here I am, conducting the three in opposite order, of course._

 _I'm pretty sure none of my email makes sense right now because I'm too busy drinking in my rapid promotion and the fact that I'm directly conversing with you (?_ _ﾟﾑﾀ_ _?_ _ﾟﾑﾀ_ _?_ _ﾟﾑﾀ_ _?_ _ﾟﾑﾀ_ _?_ _ﾟﾑﾀ_ _good shit go_ _౦_ _ԁ sHit? thats ✔ some good?_ _ﾟﾑﾌ_ _shit right?_ _ﾟﾑﾌ_ _th ? ere?_ _ﾟﾑﾌ_ _? right✔there ✔✔), so I apologize if I come across to you as permanently high on Redbull - I assure you that it not the case. But enough about me now._

 _I've been informed that Doctor Who and Gotham are your favourite shows, and I'd be happy to report that Gotham's season 2 is turning out to be just as expected, with Bruce Wayne blossoming into a young man with absolutely no chill, Nygma into a badass Riddler and much more. As for Doctor Who, the Twelfth Doctor is sass personified (I swear) and Clara… well, this is something you'll have to see for yourself. Since I cannot mail you a Blu-Ray for Star Wars Episode VII, you'll just have to wait out that one (But I'll try sneaking in a torrent ;) )._

 _Since I'm afraid of writing any further (I don't know why I even put that in here, what sort of a miserable fucker am I?), I'll end this mail and leave you to more fruitful pursuits. Hope to chat with you soon (if Venkat allows me after this mail, that is)._

 _Mindy_

Mark is in splits when the mail ends, drawing Commander Lewis into the bay (filled with worry that maybe his extended stay on Mars has started to show its effects) with the rest of the crew. Johannsen is too busy laughing to answer the Commander's questions, due to which everyone crowds around the screen, eager to see what the fuss was all about.

Five minutes later, the Hermes is shaking with laughter.

Mindy wakes up to 34 mails in her inbox, with one NOT being a request to forward the latest Acidalia Planitia images. Curious, she looks closely at the header and falls off the couch, laughing, and thankfully for her kitten BB-8 (he was previously called Crookshanks), avoiding the orange Calico so that the feline avoided death by squashing.

 _Header - Ahoy, fellow mangy cur!_

 _Hello Mindy_

 _Sorry if the header was offensive (but hey, it was a Pirates of the Caribbean AND Harry Potter reference bundled into one, cut me some slack)._

 _If I were there (and I assure you, I know you have a pretty face and even cooler personality), I would've asked for a date then and there - or, if that seemed way more stalkerish, your valuable company for the Red Sox game (Go Red Sox!)._

 _Anyhow, thanks for the Gotham and Doctor Who updates - Clara Oswald, man… And as for Star Wars Episode VII (why will you not tell me the title? Tell me the title, o blonde oracle), I'd rather watch it back home when I'm not strapped to a sleeping bag or latching onto a laptop floating in space (You know torrents are illegal, and I don't think NASA would break the rules for me)._

 _I should stop putting so much in brackets (but then that's the stuff I say quickly because I sound like a goddamn nerd because I am such a pathetic miserable nerd). Anyhow, to keep the mail trail going, I'd like to ask some potentially invasive questions (do point out if they are) -_

 _What are your interests? I'd love to know those._

 _Favourite soccer team?_

 _Favourite books?_

 _Favourite movies?_

 _Favourite fictional character?_

 _Your tumblr username_

 _Your AO3 username (and don't even try to lie - I know you have an account there as well)_

 _Your OTP and favourite ships (I am such a pathetic fucker)_

 _Favourite bands?_

 _And anything else you wish to tell me - I'm all yours (and no, not the way our esteemed pilot Capt. Rick Martinez might make it out to be)._

Mindy is gaping at the screen, silently shaking with laughter as her cat fixes a confused stare on its owner. While she would love to write back to him, the clock shows 9:30 am, and it's a Monday morning, and what impression will the now head of the SatCon Mars Division make by being late on her first day?

* * *

 **Read and comment!**


	3. Chapter 3

**_Nothing's changed._**

When Mindy walks into SatCon that day she hears are the same greetings of 'Minderson' and 'sup Park', apart from 'Good Morning Mindy'. No "ma'am"s, no nothing.

And her job is basically still the same with the tacked on responsibility of managing similar poor souls occupying her old position. She goes back to her old desk, putting the new signboard in place of the old one. _Well, doesn't that feel great - Mindy Park, SatCon Mars Division Head_ **.**

She is also incharge of the Ares 3 data dump now.

 _Well, unofficially,_ since Venkat hasn't really given her an official license to do so, but he knows she isn't the kind to censor anybody's conversations out of propriety and the like. She trawls through her remaining mails, sending the images from Acidalia Planitia detailing the state of the leftover equipment while also passing across weather shots from the region for the Aerial Meteorology division. It is only during lunch that something even remotely different from her schedule happens.

She's going through the images (again for the fifth time in the day, but hey, that's her job) when her phone pings, signaling a text message or an email received.

It's the latter, from Mark Watney.

 _Ayyy!_

 _How are you? I didn't hear back - getting bored up here. Johannsen is sleeping (again, that nerd queen), Martinez is sexting with his wife, Beck's reading his journals (purely medical and non sleazy, I can assure), Vogel's watching videos of his cats and Commander Lewis… *shudders* Words cannot describe the monstrosity that is disco music._

 _So… hope I'm not disturbing you but like I said, bored. I hope you didn't find my requests too intrusive. Hope to hear from you soon, pen pal. Or mail pal. Or ascii pal. Or radio-wave pal. Or… never mind (Quantum physics hath always been ye murky fielde)._

 _Captain Blondebeard (well, not anymore, but still…)_

So it was no surprise that Venkat peeps in after watching her giggle away at her seat before typing off on her phone like a besotted high-school teen. "Hello, Mindy," he says while drawing up a chair beside her - the little girl (she'll always be little for a forty-eight year old man like him) gets startled by his entry, the phone tumbling to the ground in haste. _Thank God for carpets,_ he thinks, because iPhones very rarely survive hard landings.

"Well, Venkat-Mr Kapoor-sir, yeah?"

"Just wanted to see what you were up to." Mindy nods, furiously tapping on the home button. "If you're answering to Watney, you don't exactly have to hide. It's part of your job. Besides, it's your lunch break - you can do whatever the heck you want at this time." She gives him a look of defeat, then, smiling, goes back to her terminal. "Mindy, that includes eating."

"Oh, yeah, food," she says absentmindedly, leaving for the cafeteria, with Venkat walking back to his office, chuckling lightly. Once she's secured the day's special of dimsums, tsing hoi chicken and noodles (there was quite a rush, and a minor scuffle between two guys from the ISS team), she goes back to her mail, rapidly typing out a response once she's stuffed her mouth full of chicken and noodles.

 _Hi Mark!_

 _Well, I was pretty surprised at you replying (honestly, I thought you'd be creeped out as hell, unless you_ ** _prefer_** _creeps, which is a wholly different case altogether). But I wasn't surprised by the reply (you're the Fonz guy, okay? This was expected)._

 _Okay, so in order requested -_

 _1\. My interests - well I love sleeping, reading, tumblr, making lame jokes and shitty memes, baking, and hugging my kitten (because I don't want to bake_ ** _and_** _hug my kitten)._

 _2\. Bayern Munich (I know Vogel's cheering somewhere, reading this as he exults over you Chelsea trash - and Beck's sister told me that. Plebeians.)_

 _3\. Hmm… Harry Potter, Alex Rider Artemis Fowl, Percy Jackson series, The Catcher In The Rye, To Kill A Mockingbird (I'll show my library for a proper answer)_

 _4\. Star Wars, Star Trek (the new Zach Quinto ones, okay?), The Imitation Game, Zombieland (so what if it's dumb?), Inglorious Basterds, Fight Club, and again, so on…_

 _5\. Damn… This is brutal - Mark, y u do dis? I guess I'm gonna have to go with Alex Rider and Artemis Fowl (Guys from across the pond with negative chill) - oh, and Clark Kent, Luke Skywalker, Pavel Chekhov, Leia Organa, the entire Batfam, Lex Luthor, Diana Prince (my queen), Nico di Angelo, etc etc._

 _6\. spaceacetodds (is loving Jason Todd a crime? If so, I plead guilty)_

 _7\. Again, spaceacetodds_

 _8\. OTP - Well, Clois is endgame, we all know it. But Han x Leia for the ultimate OTP. Plus, Mara Jade x Luke and Satine x Obi-Wan. Obikin and SuperBat are my guilty pleasure (go ahead, kink shame me)_

 _9\. Queen, Led Zeppelin, Coldplay, Imagine Dragons, Pink Floyd and 21 Pilots (I'm a rock girl). BONUS - David Bowie (he isn't a band, but boy, could he be one)._

 _10\. I hope you aren't weirded out yet. That's it - Park out (even though you park_ ** _in_** _a vehicle geddit? Geddit?)_

 _May The Force Be With You,  
_ _Mindy_

Before she can berate herself over her stupidity and edit the mail, she hits 'send' - _I have to learn to live with my decisions_.

* * *

 ** _Mark had fallen asleep to the Beatles._**

Somewhere in the middle of 'Here Comes the Sun' comes the data dump, and Beck takes over mail duty for the day, Johannsen still dozing in a corner.

"Mark, it's your pen pal," he calls out. "It's Mindy, Hab fetish voyeur," he adds, a little louder this time, and somehow Hab-fetish voyeur registers faster than his name and Mark shuffles to the laptop, displacing Beck with a casual nudge to take his seat.

"How the fuck can she like Bayern Munich?"

Of all the thoughts that could've come with the mail, this is the first to strike him, and he can hear Vogel's smug "I told you so" from across the hall. _Damn Germans._

He scowls at the Vogel prediction, laughs along with the kitten-grammar pun, laughs even more at the shitty 'Park out' pun (he's seen her puns, and she's capable of better) and all-in-all smiles a proper grin after he first arrived on the Hermes. Beck thinks he can't see him, but Mark notices the motherly smile his best friend shoots him as he watches him read the dispatch.

When he's scheduled for his 'nightly' sleep of 8 hours, Mark retires to his bunk. He's well and through and in the throes of deep sleep when the Ares jolts a little, dislodging him from his bunk and sending him tumbling down.

 _Beep beep beep - oxygen level critical. Oxygen level critical. Hab breach - pressure critical._ He feels his throat close up, his breathing turn shallow. The darkness and the light sifting through it makes his heart hammer like a hummingbird's, panic overtaking every sense.

"Mark? Mark? Mark! Wake up! WAKE UP!" He looks around wildly to see Beck in an old Johns Hopkins T-Shirt, shaking him by the shoulders while Martinez and Vogel hoist him up, Alex passing him a small glass filled with water. Mark slowly sips the liquid, Beck rubbing his back while Beth and the commander drape a blanket over him. No words are exchanged as the crew silently comforts him, and even though they're trying their best, he can feel the helplessness in the air.

"Guys, go off to sleep - I'll be fine, I promise. Becky's here to take care of me," he jokes as Beck takes back his position on his bunk, watching him with utter concern. "Seriously guys, sleep. Go and get a good night's rest."

With humour and optimism as his armour, Mark tries to recollect the good memories of the day, slowly smiling a little as Mindy's words come back to him. As he drifts back to sleep, he realises he's hit another first - he's the first person to make a new friend in space.


End file.
